


Jonmund Drabbles

by xpityx



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-05 03:56:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19040656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xpityx/pseuds/xpityx
Summary: It was so still beyond the Wall.A collection of loosely linked drabbles





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd as I'm about to hand my beta over 10K of Jonmund modern!au to check - I wrote this instead of editing said 10K fic...

 

It was so still beyond the Wall. 

 

The thick snow muffled any noise and the nature of the free folk was such that even more than a hundred of them could move quietly: stepping in the footprints of those in front of them to lessen the sound of crunching snow. 

 

The Dragon Queen sat on the throne, Cersei was dead by her brother’s hand, and Sansa was Queen in the North in exchange for Jon once again disappearing from the map. He was almost grateful to have had the decision taken out of his hands. That gratitude warred against the guilt that he wasn’t the king who people thought he should be, who Sam had thought he was. There was also the part of him who felt he was forever a bastard—illegitimate, something to be hidden away. Tormund had been right and the North, the true North, was where he belonged: with people who asked nothing of him but that which was no burden to give: companionship, a strong bow arm for a hunt, his connection to Ghost. 

 

They were heading for a village where a few of the wildlings had lived before the Night King had come. It had been abandoned early on and the survivors were sure most of the structures would still be standing. Jon was glad. He didn’t fancy felling trees and building houses for the whole two hundred or so folk they travelled with. The diminished numbers of free folk meant there was more game than usual, and they were well fed with Ghost tracking most nights. Jon always awoke with the unerring knowledge of which direction they should head in to hunt deer or rabbits, and though the wildlings were skilled hunters in their own right, it was hard to argue with Jon and Ghost’s hundred per cent success rate.

 

The lack of Ghost was difficult sometimes though. 

 

Jon didn’t cry, hadn’t since he was very small, but when he woke up in the deepest dark of the night he could feel his face was damp. 

 

He’d died, been a king then not, been reunited with his siblings then taken away from them, but he’d never had as many nightmares as he did now. The lack of sleep was starting to drag at him. He was glad of his connection to Ghost, that even when his eyes blurred and he lost the thread of the story Tormund was telling him he could still track game with Ghost leading the way. He thought that perhaps one or two of his nightmares had involved him walking up and discovering everyone had left him as he slept: unblemished snow as far as the eye could see. 

 

He wiped at his face and took deep breaths, trying to still the pounding of his heart. He couldn’t even remember what he’d been dreaming of. A dim glow lit the absolute blackness of the night outside his tent as one of the night watch passed by. It wasn’t until he heard the entry flap being unhooked that he realised that whoever it was was coming in. He sat up with a dagger in his hand just in case it wasn’t a friend. An icy blast of air hit him and a mound of furs revealed itself to be Tormund, who threw his sleeping fur mostly on top of Jon in the narrow space then hung his whale oil lamp on a hook on the side of the tent.

 

Jon watched him in astonishment as he closed up the entry again then began taking off his outer layers.

 

“What… What are you doing?” Jon asked when no obvious explanation was forthcoming.

 

“Every night for two weeks you’ve woken yourself up with nightmares. You don’t do it so much when Ghost is here, so rather wait for someone to stab you in the eye for keeping the whole camp awake I thought I'd keep you company.” 

 

Jon watched as Tormund, down to his underlayers now, blew out the light. It was pitch dark then, but he could feel him as he lay down in the narrow space beside Jon and pulled his furs over himself.

 

Jon wasn’t sure whether to be horrified or grateful. He lay there, trying to put a name to the feeling welling up in him.

 

A heavy arm fell over his chest.

 

“Go to sleep, Jon Snow,” Tormund demanded.

 

There was nothing to be done but do as he was bid. He slept, and did not dream.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, I have more of these apparently?

 

Jon woke up, fighting his way back to consciousness as the dregs of his nightmare clung to him. It was a dream—only a dream and he was safe. He was in his tent, not more than a day’s journey to their destination and all around him the wildlings slept on. They were not slaughtered, flies crowding on blank eyes and silent as Jon moved from corpse to corpse, first slowly in disbelief, then tripping in his haste. Tormund, not Tormund, he would never leave Jon alone in the cold with no-one to comfort him, he could not be dead, he—Jon took one sobbing breath, then another. 

 

“Jon?” 

 

Tormund’s voice was groggy with sleep, and Jon turned towards him in the pitch black of the tent. Arms around him as Tormund pulled him close.

 

“Hush, my little crow, it was only a dream.”

 

Jon was truly crying now, though he shook with the effort to control his sobs, his hands fisted into Tormund’s shirt. 

 

Tormund continued to speak softly to him, first in common and then in the dialect of his clan. Eventually Jon calmed a little, though he knew he would be terribly embarrassed soon enough, the feeling was thankfully still far away.

 

“Sorry,” he croaked, untangling his hands from Tormund’s underlayers, then realising he didn’t know what to do with them.

 

“No need for sorry. I cried for a week when my youngest died. Still do, now and then. There’s no shame in it.”

 

“I dreamed you were dead,” Jon said, then winced at his own honestly, “all of you. I woke up and I was the only one still alive.”

 

“We would never leave you, Jon,” Tormund said, too insightful by far. “I would never leave you.”

 

Jon nodded, then rolled onto his back. He put a hand over his eyes and took an unsteady breath. He couldn’t understand why he was struggling so much. He had learned that he would not be comforted the same way as his siblings had, and he had quickly stopped expecting to receive any softness as a child. That had been a long time ago though, and he shouldn’t need anyone the way he needed Tormund, who never hesitated when Jon reached out. 

 

“Jon” Tormund said, as if sensing his thoughts. 

 

Jon told himself he was being ridiculous one more time, and when that didn’t ease the fear that still clawed at him, he rolled back towards Tormund. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hard

 

Jon was warm, comfortable, and hard in his leggings. He flexed his hips, once, twice. It had been a long time since he’d woken up in such a way and he’d forgotten how good it could feel to simply rut—

He opened his eyes and looked up to where Tormund was looking down a him, amusement in his eyes and his eyebrows raised to their uppermost levels.

“Enjoying yourself?” He asked.

Jon rolled onto his back, put both hands over his face, and wished for a quick death.

“I had not expected such size from you, Jon Snow, having seen your prick soft,” Tormund continued, conversationally.

“Please leave my tent,” Jon requested, muffled from behind his hands.

“Where is your southern hospitality, Jon? That was my thigh you were rubbing your prick against, after all.”

Jon was just wondering if he could bury himself in the earth under his sleeping mat when a voice sounded loudly from outside the tent.

“Will you two stop talking about your cocks and get out here to help break camp!?”

Jon thought perhaps he should have taken his chances in the South after all. Death by dragon fire couldn’t be worse than this.

Tormund patted his leg as he got up to put his layers on.

“It’ll be alright, you stay here and think cold thoughts and I’ll go help pack up.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Tumblr](https://xpityx.tumblr.com/)


End file.
